How I Got an Agent

For those of you who follow me on social media, you already know the exciting news that I now have a literary agent! What you probably don't know is how amazingly orchestrated my journey to finding an agent was.

It all started with a decision that had nothing to do with writing whatsoever.

Joel and I decided we wanted to find a new church. There was nothing wrong with our old church, but I felt that it was time to branch off from the church I grew up in, the church where so many people knew me as my parent's daughter rather than as me. I had spent many good years at that church, and I loved how many of my students I got to see on Wednesday nights. Because of that time, I was blessed to build deep, meaningful relationships with so many of them. Where I struggled, though, was that I had given so much of my time and energy to teenagers that I had neglected friendships with people my own age. Joel and I had so little time to invest in other young married couples because I was always serving teenagers. We felt it was time to step back from serving so that we could build the friendships we needed to hold us accountable and to go through life with us.

Changing churches led us to seeking out a small group. Instead of going about joining a small group in the traditional way, I messaged a friend of mine who I had met while I was in graduate school. She encouraged us to come to her group one Wednesday night, and we have been going ever since.

That small group is where I met Laura. Like me, she is a teacher and a writer.

Back in February, Laura messaged me about a writing conference (The Alabama Writing Workshop) in Birmingham, AL. At first Laura didn't plan on going to the conference, but it seemed like a great opportunity so I signed up to go by myself (something I usually would never do because I'm awkward).

At that point, I was a little discouraged in terms of writing, and I was hoping to break free of that mentality. I had just recently heard back from an agent who loved my novel but turned it down because he didn't typically work with the fantasy genre, and he thought it would do better with another agent's representation. I was thankful that he liked my novel, but it was discouraging to hear the rejection after checking my email no less than 100,000 times as I waited for his response. At the ALAWW, I hoped to move forward from that rejection and to make some connections with other agents.

Laura ended up deciding to go to the conference, and it turned out to be a nice day (even though we ate lunch with a group of people who talked about eating humans and cannibal recipes, haha). Laura pitched her picture books to Marisa Corvisiero and was signed on the spot. YAY! :)

In August, I signed up for the writer's conference put on by the Corvisiero Literary Agency (the agency run by Laura's agent). Laura gave me a shout out on Twitter for signing up, and that is how I was first introduced to Justin. On Twitter, Justin and I talked a lot about my job as teacher, my students, and writing in general. It was nice to have those conversations with him before I pitched my novel to him at the conference.

About a week after pitching my novel, Justin offered me representation, and I gladly accepted. Now Laura and I get to be church family and agency family.

It amazes me how the decisions we make in life, whether big or small, can lead us down paths we were never expecting to follow. When I look back on signing the contract with Justin, it's not just that one moment that stands out to me. It's all the little details and decisions and people that placed me in the right place at the right time.

In reflecting, I'm reminded yet again just how perfectly God orchestrates our lives. Not only does that comfort me, but also it fills me with joy. I can trust that God has given me a vision for the future, and I need only follow Him in my day-to-day life decisions. He will get me where He wants me to be exactly when He wants me to get there. I can't think of a greater comfort than knowing that God is working behind the scenes of our lives.

Faith of the Skydiver

Years ago, I made a bucket list. It holds the normal things like skydiving and traveling to other countries and the less normal things like riding in a Smart Car (I'm still holding out hope for that one). My parents offered to pay for me to skydive as a birthday present not long after I made that list. But Barnes & Noble happened. I walked out of B&N with a stack of brand new books, justifying my book addiction by convincing myself that the adventures on those pages would far outlast the short-lived adventure that was skydiving. And for a time, I suppose they did.

As time passed, I grew more and more comfortable with reading about other's adventures in fiction rather than experiencing my own adventures. It was safer to live that way. There's no impending danger when you crack open a book. No chance you'll fall out of an airplane and land flat on the pavement, never to get back up again. No chance you'll vomit your guts onto that pavement either (a far greater fear for me than the first).

Being the Type A person I am, I knew I couldn't avoid skydiving forever. The idea of it grew scarier with time, but still, I had written it on my bucket list. It had to be checked off. Lucky for me, I married an adventure seeker. Before I could talk myself out of skydiving a second time, he had my skydiving adventure scheduled and paid for. You can't walk away from that.

I think my fear level the moment we pulled into the parking lot that day paralleled my fear level during the April 27, 2011 tornadoes. I wasn't surrounded by total chaos, but I just knew I was going to throw up. Yes, you read that correctly. My greatest fear wasn't dying. I'd run a marathon without properly training and listened to the potential death announcement that warned non-trained participants not to attempt such a brutal beast. It wasn't even getting injured that scared me. I could deal with that. Two ankle surgeries practically made me a pro at injury recovery. Vomiting, not so much. I'd rather die.

I begged Joel to let me back out, to let me just wait in the car for him to go. It didn't work. I was in the building signing a waiver before I could even process where my attempt to back out had gone wrong.

A man approached us, asking if I was afraid.

"Yes," I gulped.

He assured me that it was normal to be afraid. Most people were afraid to skydive on their first time. I assured him that I, unlike most people, was not afraid of anything but vomiting. He laughed at me and then convinced me that skydiving was nothing like the rides at amusement parks that make your stomach drop.

"Are you sure I'm not going to throw up?" I asked for the fifteenth time.

After he explained that his very pregnant wife had just recently gone skydiving, I was sure that I had nothing to worry about.

Heart racing, I suited up and walked outside with Joel. We took a picture to keep me from focusing on what was about to happen. Really, we took a picture because in this day and time, you haven't experienced anything until you post a picture of it on social media.

Getting on the plane is kind of a blur. I don't remember much until I was straddling a bench in front of a man I'd only just met. He was attaching himself to me. I had almost convinced myself that it wasn't going to be so bad until the plane door opened and we began inching our way towards the hole. The experienced skydivers jumped out the door and were just sucked into oblivion, or so it seemed. The only comfort I had in that moment was the man who was attached to Joel. For some reason, he was talking about Harry Potter, and I knew these men had to be trustworthy if they were Harry Potter fans.

When my partner and I sat at the edge, ready to fall out of the plane, I'm glad I didn't have time to look down. My partner simply rocked us back and forth three times and then we were tumbling through the air.

I thought skydiving would be a huge adrenaline rush, but it just hurt my ears. The good news is I didn't throw up, and my students think I'm either really cool or really crazy because I jumped out of a plane by choice.

Looking back on the skydiving experience, the thing that stands out to me the most is probably the insane amount of trust involved in tandem skydiving. I had never met the man who was attached to my back. Sure, we traded a few casual sentences and sure, he liked Harry Potter, but I put my whole life into his hands, trusting that he knew what he was doing with our parachute. Even though my biggest concern at the time was not throwing up, it still amazes me that I could sit there and trust a complete stranger.

I sometimes wonder why it was so much easier for me to trust a stranger with my life than it is for me to trust the God who is nearer to me than my very heart. In all honesty, my experience skydiving is what my faith should look like. Me and God, sitting at the edge of what is unknown to me but fully known to Him. I cannot look back because looking back leads to comfort and the avoidance of adventure. I cannot look down because I'm not meant to see the full picture. The full picture would be too great a burden, and I would cower in fear, never taking the leap of faith. I can only look straight ahead at the beauty that's right in front of me and thirst for the adventure that's ahead. And when He tells me that it's time to take the leap of faith, I don't have to do it on my own. I don't have to sit frozen in fear with my feet dangling over the edge of the adventure He has planned for me. I simply have to lean back and let Him rock me back and forth, trusting that His gentle nudge will lead me down the path I'm meant to go, and He will keep me safe and afloat all along the way.

The Day We Took No Notes

This is a true story.

It seemed like an ordinary day, and I suppose it was until late that afternoon. My students were taking notes on grammar. I was checking attendance. As I said before, ordinary day.

I read over the last few names on my attendance sheet, and I just so happened to look up in time to see a boy approaching me. He was struggling to say my name because his mouth was filled with a reddish-purple liquid. His teeth were stained by the liquid. My first thought: He's bitten his tongue off. Oh my goodness! I have no idea how to handle this. They don't train you for stuff like this in school. I can't believe he bit his tongue off.

I suppose I was in shock from what I thought had happened, so I directly asked the student, "Did you bite your tongue off?"

The student mumbled some more.

Oh no! Oh no! He really bit it off. What am I going to do?

"What is he saying? Did he bite his tongue off?" I nervously asked a nearby student, one who had been sitting in the same group as the ink-filled boy and who had quite possibly witnessed the whole thing.

The student quickly shook his head.

"No," he said. "His ink pen busted in his mouth. He was chewing on the end of it."

Relief flooded over me. I wouldn't have to deal with the trauma of a lost tongue after all.

"Go to the bathroom," I encouraged the ink-filled student. "Stop trying to talk. Go rinse your mouth out."

The student nodded, his cheeks on the verge of explosion from all the ink and accumulating saliva. He rushed out the door, and I called the front office, requesting that an administrator check on him. As soon as I hung up the phone, another student called my name. I looked toward him. His dark skin was pale as it could be.

"Ms. Shirley," he said, his eyes wide with sheer terror. "I think he's going to die."

If I'm being honest, all I could think was, Why do you care? You told me yesterday that you hated him. Of course, being a teacher, you can't say those kind of things out loud. Instead, I went with, "He's not going to die. An administrator is checking on him right now."

"No," said the kid, shaking his head. "You don't understand. There is poison in ink. He has that poison in his mouth. If he swallows any of it, he's going to die. Ms. Shirley, I don't like [insert student's name] one bit, but I don't want him to die. I'd rather hate him while he's still alive than have him die."

"He's not going to die," I repeated.

"Can we pray for him just in case?"

"Yes," I said. "If it would make you feel better, you can pray for him."

The student smiled and clasped his hands together.

"Everyone," he said, looking at his peers. "Put your hands together. Ms. Shirley is going to pray for him."

All of the students but one clasped their hands together and looked at me.

"No," said one of the girls, her hands clasped together. "Ms. Shirley can't pray for him. She'll get arrested."

"I won't get arrested," I assured her, "but you're right. It would be best if you prayed individually."

"Yeah, I'm not praying," said the student with the non-clasped hands. "I'm atheist."

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to calm the chaos. "How about this. Those of you who want to pray, pray silently. Those of you who don't want to pray, don't pray. Will that work?"

All of the students, the atheist included, nodded. I looked over at the student who had originally requested the prayer. He seemed fine with my suggestion and put his hands together once more. He looked up at the ceiling tiles, took a deep breath, and smiled.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, still looking up.

"Um, that was not silent," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Oops," he said, looking at me with a sheepish expression.

At this point, I could not help but laugh. The rest of the class followed in suit. Almost instantaneously, the student with the ink-filled mouth returned. The ink was gone, but his mouth was now filled with toilet tissue.

"Good news," he said, his voice barely audible through the toilet tissue. "The administrator said I'm going to live. The pen was non-toxic."

The whole class cheered. My non-silent prayer warrior nodded his head.

"I knew he was going to live," he said, confidently. "Jesus told me."

"Did he?" I asked. "You never even finished your prayer."

The class filled with laughter, including my non-silent prayer warrior. In the midst of the laughter, another student's hand shot up in the air.

"Ms. Shirley, can I get some water?" he asked. "I accidentally ate a piece of paper."

What in the world is going on? This is 7th grade, not kindergarten. What's with everyone eating school supplies?

"Yeah, go ahead," I said, having totally given up on taking notes for the day. "Does anyone want to eat a glue stick?"

The entire class erupted into laughter, and moments later, the bell rang to dismiss the craziest, funniest, most memorable class period of my life.